


Chasing Foxes

by kawaiibossAssSwagbitch420



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sexual Content, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9447593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaiibossAssSwagbitch420/pseuds/kawaiibossAssSwagbitch420
Summary: A tale worth telling a thousand times over.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> HANDS is dead.
> 
> Here's some new shit.
> 
> Enjoy.

**_Summer, 2013_**

It isn't that Renji is oblivious, he's just _quiet_. He observes, calculates, with wolf-gray eyes and tight lips. It was mistaken often for ignorance, or indifference. But neither label suits him. He's gentle and soft hearted, but keeps his hide tough and his countenance blank. Empathy is a weakness embedded into his soul, and only through learning and growing as a man did he discover it could be his greatest strength. 

Kaneki Ken interested him. 

He is a timid young man, unaccustomed as he is to a world with such a brutal nature. Renji sees the fear in his eyes, the way his lips warble and pull tight during dinner time. How he refused, at first, to fight and feed and _survive._

"It's monstrous," he'd heard the boy say one night, to their mentor Mr. Yoshimura. " _I'm_ a monster." 

Yes, monsters exist. When Renji looks back, he's sees himself filling that title. All those days, wandering and searching for something—for anyone to explain or quell that angry bubble deep in his chest. He likes to think he'd found his way from that life. But he sees the hesitance in Kaneki's eyes when they're together. Renji is large, Renji is restrained. Like a patient monster. 

And it's not intentional. Because Renji is just _quiet._

* 

"I need a favor, Mr. Yomo." 

Mr. Yoshimura sits across from Renji in his office, the light from the streetlamp outside throwing splashes of amber across the room. Renji considers the man in front of him, his face relaxed but his hands curled around his pen tight enough to bleed the whites of his knuckles. He scratches away at the paper, _scritch scritch._

"I need to find someone," the elder continues. "A troublemaker, if you will. Raising suspicion." 

_Scritch scritch_ goes the pen. Renji watches the words form on the parchment, still new and nervous to the meaning of the symbols. He was already a man when he'd learned to read. 

"Yes, sir," Renji nods. "But who?" 

Mr. Yoshimura sits the pen down, sliding the paper away. His fingers relax and he looks up at Renji with a certain mischief. Eyes gleaming like he were thirty years younger. Like it was a game. 

"That's just it, Mr. Yomo. I don't know _who."_

* 

Renji was quiet and observed and calculated. And he knew plenty others with those same traits. 

He'd been tasked with watching Kaneki that night, to bring him on his endeavors and let him observe, to discover the deeper world that was right beneath his nose his whole life. The bar he'd pass on his way to school, The Helter Skelter, resurfaced into his life with a newer meaning. 

He meets Itori, a good natured but albeit unorthodox greeting. That shit eating grin that Renji hates to love. Their friendship, he reminds himself often, is beneficial. Itori is a collector of many things—names, faces, phone numbers, whereabouts, intentions.... 

And photographs. All adorned across her bar. Some a decade old already. Renji catches Kaneki studying them, his eyes flicking back and forth between Renji and the frame. 

"This is you?" 

Renji steps toward him, looking at the picture. "Yes." 

"Oh..." Kaneki trails off, like he's thinking. "You were so young." 

"Eighteen," Renji answers without prompting. 

And Kaneki just nods. His eyes flitting around to all the pictures on the wall, seeking Renji's face behind any other shiny frames. 

"That's the only picture of Ren-chan I got," Itori chimes in. "Only 'cause Teru made him take it." 

"Who's...?" 

Itori points to a face, her nail clacking against the glass. "That's Teru." 

Renji doesn't look at the picture, just purses his lips and turns on his heels toward the bar. "Itori. Wine?" 

* 

**_Spring, 2005_**

"Ren?" 

Renji stirs only slightly, cracking open an eye to regard the little thing now straddling his hips. 

Teru grumbles, his lips forming a pout. "Ren," he repeats, more forceful now. He shakes Renji, cold palms against his bare chest. "Renji, _get up!"_

"I am," Renji rumbles. 

At that, Teru snorts. "No you're not!" 

"What do you want?" he sighs, bringing his hands up to scratch at his eyes. 

"You _out_ of my bed!" 

Renji lifts up finally, Teru stumbling over his knees. "Do you always sneak into peoples houses for nap time?!" Teru voice snaps and bites as he throws Renji's shirt directly in his face. Renji just shakes his head and redresses—throwing his legs over the side of the bed to relace his boots. 

Outside the window, children squeal and giggle. And Teru stares at him, with his hands on his hips like he's upset. But his eyes glow, his face a warm flush as he tries to hold back laughter. 

Teru is a friend. And that's where that sentence ends. He watches Renji, his hair a wild mess of curls that catch light in the afternoon sun, a brown glow. Pointed chin, button nose, his mother's features. Bright doe eyes that could burn holes into your skin, the way he stares with such intensity. 

But there was a charm to Teru, which was inherently masculine. He carried himself with a certain pride, squared his jaw and shoulders and demanded his own presence. Little, but fierce. 

"I was tired," Renji explains. "Your mother offered." 

The façade cracks and Teru lets out a giggle. "Shoulda put you on the couch, like a fuckin' dog." 

Teru is a friend. And sometimes he feels like more than that. He is a confidante, a beacon of hope and encouragement. He is a man Renji could strive to be, someone to look up to. He has a body and soul worth worshipping. His happiness is infectious, his laughter reviving. Renji wants to drown in the wealth Teru has to offer. 

When Renji had confessed, Teru's face softened like he pitied him. It haunts Renji. 

"C'mon," Teru jerks his head toward the door. "Stay for breakfast. Kids'll be happy to see you." 

* 

Children suffer. It's a misfortune, a travesty, but a reality all the same. Parents disappear, snuffed out like flames, and children wander the streets looking for answers. 

Mayu finds them. 

Because children aren't to blame for their own suffering. Mayu was, almost to a fault, a nurturer. She'd find the poor things in the streets, looking for a meal, and take them to their new home. A warm meal, a warm bed, a new life. 

Teru is Mayu's only biological child, but she considers each child she cares for as one of her own. They call her "mom," and most even come to visit after leaving the nest. 

Renji was not one of her children, but he was a good kid all the same. He shared meals with their family often, and this morning wasn't any different. She places an extra bowl on the table and drags the spare chair from the laundry room. He doesn't call her "mom." But he's still a good kid. He takes a seat next to Teru as she scoops portions of porridge into each bowl. 

Her three youngest clamor in from outside and take their seats—bouncing as they watch their own portions fill their bowls. 

Yuki is seven, ringlets of black silk tied to the back of her crown. She's lost three baby teeth, a gapped smile as she thanks her mother for the meal. She's polite, waits for the rest of the family to receive their portions. 

The oldest currently staying with them is eleven. Takeo sits quietly, his hands in his lap as he waits. Mayu rubs at his blond hair as she walks around him, his eyes closing slightly at the affection. The poor thing wasn't used to such gestures, but was slowly growing accustomed to loving touches. He'd only just recently taken to calling Mayu "mama." 

The loudest at the table was always Ryuuji, a little toddler still learning to form babbles into words. Mayu found him when he was still an infant, this was the only family he'd ever known. His hair reminds Mayu of Teru as a child—a mess of hair sticking up every which way, like a thatch of tangled yarn were precariously glued to his head. He laughs, smiles, giggles on about the bugs in the backyard. 

Ryuuji had taken a shine to Renji, and Teru found it hilarious. Renji would let the tot go on and on about his make-believe adventures, and just nod and smile and listen. 

"C'mon, guys, calm down," Mayu says over the tumult. "What do we say before we eat?" 

A cheerful trio of, "Thank you for the meal!" 

* 

After a long day, the children were completely exhausted. Ryuuji had curled up in Teru's lap while the TV flickered hues of gray and blue across the room. Takeo and Yuki had gone to their rooms for the night. 

Renji had left after breakfast. Where to? Teru is never sure. That man he works for has him running errands all hours of the night. It almost never surprised Teru to find Renji curled up in his bed, or to be awoken suddenly when he crawls in next to Teru. How warm his body was, pressing his groin against Teru's ass... 

He shakes those thoughts away. _There's a child in his lap._

His mother pokes her head into the living room, smiling softly at the sweet image of Teru cuddled up on the couch with the baby. 

"Sweetie," she whispers. "I'm heading out." 

Teru bites his lips, his brows knitting. "Mom," he hisses as she's turning to leave. "Wait." 

Mayu pauses, bending a bit back to look at Teru. "What's wrong?" 

Gently, Teru peels Ryuuji out of his lap, laying him across the couch and quietly standing up. Regards his mother quietly. "Don't go out tonight," he insists. 

She rolls her eyes. "Teru. The light bill is due soon and you know we need--" 

"I know what we need, Mom." He takes a few steps forward, reaching out to take his mother's delicate hand. She's getting older now, a feat most ghouls never achieve. He can't help but to wonder how much longer her luck will last. 

"I'll go," he states. "Okay? Let me go instead." 

He always sees the hesitance in her eyes. But he knows. She can feel her muscles slowing, joints stiffening. But she sighs all the same. "I can handle this." 

"I know, but that doesn't mean you _have_ to." He kisses her forehead softly. "I'll go. Just stay home with your babies, Mom." 

* 

**_2013_**

Uta joins them, taking a seat next to Kaneki at the bar. Itori and Renji had disappeared earlier, and Uta enjoys his company with Kaneki with a drink in his hand. 

"Would you like some?" he asks, motioning toward the bottles Itori left on the bar. 

"I'm not old enough," Kaneki frowns. 

Uta just smirks, takes a large gulp from his glass. "You're a shameless monster that murders to survive. I think a little underaged drinking wouldn't be out of the question." 

Kaneki fidgets, his fingers pulling at the sleeves of his sweater. Again, Uta smirks. Such a sweet little thing, causing memories to stir. 

When he'd walked into Helter Skelter, he found Kaneki studying the framed photographs on the wall. He stood behind Kaneki, craning his neck forward to stand cheek-to-cheek with the younger man. He was looking at a picture of opening night, when Uta was still blond and had a drunk Teru draped across his lap. Face red, eyes dull and tired. Uta still remembers the dirty shit Teru whispered in his ear that night, how they went home to fulfill each promise Teru offered. 

And for just a brief moment, he wonders if sweet, shy Kaneki could be as wild as Teru was. 

"Did you think I looked better with blond hair?" Uta asks, the ice cubes in his glass clinking around. 

Kaneki huffs, "You've always had interesting style." 

"Teru hated the blond hair," Uta laughs. 

They sit in silence for a moment, Kaneki shifting awkwardly next to Uta. Uta drinks, watches the little thing from the corner of his eye. Long, tattooed fingers curling around his glass. 

"Those pictures of Teru," he comments, voice casual. "Did you notice?" 

Kaneki hums, turning to Uta. 

"When he smiled, he looked like a fox." 

* 

**_Spring, 2005_**

When Mayu had opened her door a decade before, a man stood outside her home. 

"I just found him," he'd said, a little body clutching his leg. "All alone. Just singin'. Ain't got a name." 

Mayu stepped onto the porch, reaching out a hand toward the child. He did not flinch, and Mayu hardly believed he was alive—as still as he was, as dirty and pale as he was.... 

She named him "Uta" and gave him a bath. A cot in the open room. Fresh clothes. A peck on the cheek when she tucked him in for bed. 

Uta remembers that night vividly, but nothing before that. 

It's spring now, the flowers and trees outside blooming and baring their fruits. Teru sits across from him at the kitchen table of their childhood home, his face stern as he reads over the newspaper. Under the table, Uta rubs his bare ankle against Teru's as he watches him. 

"Anything interesting?" he asks. 

Teru purses his lips. "You gotta have medical records to get a job, right?" 

"Yes," Uta nods. "But you can get fake ones." 

"But that costs money." 

Again, Uta nods. "Yes." 

"The point of getting a job is to make money," Teru sighs. "But I need money to get a job." 

"There's other ways to make money," Uta purrs, leaning forward over the table. Teru says nothing when a hand reaches out to brush against his fingers, the cold tips pebbling his skin. "Back alley deals, so to say. You can work at a butcher shop, or a club." 

"I'd get nauseated at the butcher shop." Teru's lips pinch, his expression indiscernible. "And I have a pretty shitty personality. Clubs wouldn't be good either." 

"What about the loading docks? They're always hiring, under the table." 

"Yeah, but a human runs that. I don't _look_ very strong. They'd laugh at me." 

"I think you're just trying to find the easy way out of this," Uta says lazily, bringing a hand up to pinch and pull at Teru's curls. "Just play to your strengths." 

At that, Teru huffs. "My strengths... Like what?" 

"Well," he begins lowly, like it were a secret. But they're alone at the moment—Mayu had taken the children out with Renji. They were meeting with his employer, who would help with educating the children on blending into society. They'd been gone since lunchtime, and already the sky is growing dull with the setting sun. 

"You have many talents," Uta continues. "You have a talented little mouth, no gag reflex. You suck cock like you were born for it." 

Teru rolls his eyes, but a pretty blush still paints his face. "C'mon, man." 

His hands cup Teru's cheek now, a loving but stern touch. "Do you remember the first time we sucked each other off?" 

Teru snorts. "Yeah, you were terrible at it." 

"And you were so good I hardly lasted five minutes." 

They laugh a bit, good natured. But he can feel Teru relax in his grip, blood thrumming wildly beneath his skin. When Teru was aroused, he smelled of vanilla. A sweet, fresh scent. And it began to slowly fill the air around them. 

"Born to suck cock," Uta laughs gently. "If you're good at something, never do it for free." 

Teru's smile widens, his cheeks dimpling and the baby fat rounding over his eyes. Like a little fox. "Then you owe me _a lot_ of money." 

* 

Renji steps into the home behind Mayu, Ryuuji clinging to his neck while he snoozes softly. 

"Thank you, Renji," Mayu whispers, ushering the other two sleepy children to the bathroom to wash up for bed. 

The children had learned a lot from Mr. Yoshimura today. His boss even treated them to a meal at the end of the lessons, which was the root cause of their exhaustion. He pries Ryuuji away from his torso, lays him on his bed gently and watches the baby curl around his teddy bear. 

Renji scrapes rough palms over his eyes, close to passing out himself. He passes Mayu in the hallway, whispering, "Good night," before ducking into Teru's room quietly. 

The rooms is silent, save for the quiet breaths as Teru sleeps. Renji approaches quietly, stripping down to his boxers before lifting the blankets to crawl in. 

Teru stirs. "Ren..." 

Teru's in his boxers, too. An oversized t-shirt hiked up to expose his stomach. Renji adjusts his body, lies on his side perpendicular to Teru and faces him. Eyes pinched shut, like he were forcing himself to go back to sleep. 

"Ren," Teru repeats, clarity in his voice. "Wha' time's it?" 

"It's late," Renji answers. "Go back to bed." 

"Don' wanna now," he smiles, scooting in closer to Renji. Pressing a nose into bare skin, dragging his lips lazily up Renji's collarbone. "Because you're here now." 

Teru is a friend, and sometimes he is more than that. Because sometimes, when they're alone at night, Teru will tangle his legs with Renji's, bite and nip at his skin and make Renji growl with hunger. He knows where to touch Renji, how to lick and tease his cock until it's weeping from the attention. 

And Renji, in turn, has learned Teru's body. That warmth that entwines his cock, wet and slick as he works his way in. The hitch of his breath, the taste of his tongue. Renji fucks into Teru and swallows his moans, lets him claw into his skin when he climaxes. 

"Again," Teru gasps. "I... I need to come... _again."_

He rolls Teru onto his stomach, forcing his thighs apart. Re-enters slowly, lets Teru feel every vein and groove. His little cock rubbing into the sheets, soaking them. Renji fucks Teru slowly and whispers into his ear about how good he feels. 

"Gonna come again, baby?" His breath is rough, sends a chill down Teru's spine. He can feel an orgasm slowly burn in his abdomen, a fire waiting to explode. He nods dumbly, clamping a hand over his lips. Hips working back to meet Renji thrust for thrust. 

"Just like that, Teru," Renji sighs, his lips in Teru's hair. "Fuck yourself on my cock. Make yourself come, baby. I wanna hear you come..." 

"Ren!" Teru whimpers. "Renji! I..I'm gonna.... _Ren, I'm coming!"_

He slaps both hands over his mouth, pressing his face into his pillows as he comes. Trembling little mess, whimpering and whining beneath Renji. The fluttering of his muscles brings Renji over the edge, his heart hammering in his ears as he fills Teru with his heat. 

Renji sinks into Teru, pressing his chest against the bare back. His lips kissing around the shell of Teru's ear. "Teru," he whispers. "Baby. I love you." 

"Don't, Renji..." 

"You don't have to love me back," Renji assures him, his voice as strong as always. Teru feels Renji's hands skim over his body, rubbing his thighs and back, working blood back through his body. Aftercare. Only Renji does this for him. 

"I just want you to know," Renji continues. "Just, _know_ that I love you." 

Renji's hand is so much larger than his own, but it twines with his own fingers so delicately—so _lovingly._ Teru can't help but to smile and concede. "Okay." 

* 

"You smell like Teru." 

Renji glances up from his work, but just for a moment. Just long enough to catch Uta's eyes—dark and unreadable—and let a smirk twitch at the corner of his lips. 

"So do you," says Renji. 

He hears Uta huff. He slides the man his cup of coffee, listens to his breath puff against the surface to cool it. 

"He's quite the little slut behind closed doors, isn't he?" Uta sits his cup down gently, cradling his head in his hand almost dreamily. "I wonder if we're the only ones that know this?" 

"Teru' free to do what he wants." Renji turns away from Uta, busies himself with refilling jars of coffee beans. His shoulders stiff, jaw tight. He hopes Uta doesn't notice. 

"And _who_ he wants." 

There's a moment of silence between them, filled only by Uta's careful sips and the clamor of coffee beans tinkling into the glass jars. Uta shifts, his barstool creaking under his weight, and watches Renji. Curls slim, tattooed fingers under his chin. 

"Teru went out the other night," Uta begins. "In his mother's place. He didn't bring home any food. Just money. How do you think he got that money?" 

Renji doesn't answer, because he knows. Teru had called him, his voice shaking on the other line. 

_"I can't do this," he'd said. Renji heard how damp his voice was, how it shook. "I'm scared. But we need money. What do I do, Ren?"_

_"Go to Toshio," Renj answered, without hesitation. "Offer to spray down the floors at the shop. He'll give you a bit of money, and maybe some meat for your trouble."_

"Do you think," Uta continues, "he went out to the red light? Maybe sucked a cock or two for some change?" 

"He didn't." Renji's voice is calm, but his insides burn with that familiar rage. That need to destroy. But he keeps himself in check—he's worked so fucking hard to be where he's at. Uta won't jeopardize this. 

"But how do you know?" 

"Because," Renji finally turns to Uta, wiping off his hands with a damp rag. "I sent him to Toshio. The butcher. He got a bit of money hosing out the blood for that old bastard." 

Uta nods, his eyes lowering. "That makes sense," he muses. 

"Would you like another cup?" 

Uta's eyes flick upward. "Yes, thank you." 

Renji takes his glass, gently pours the steaming liquid before handing it back. 

"You make the best coffee, Ren." 

"I know." 

A sip, a smile. "Teru makes terrible coffee." A puff at the surface, mischeif in his eyes. "But he can suck cock like a son of a bitch."


	2. The Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Uta remembers the most about Yuji is his eyes, how they were dark and rich like damp soil. They were gentle, a thick set of eyebrows perched above them. How they glinted in that morning sunrise as Yuji welcomed him to the family. A certain dullness, a lifelessness. 
> 
> And Teru has those same eyes. Deep and heavy. But his brows are thin, like his mother's. And Uta sees that same desperation within them now that he saw in Yuji's eyes all those years ago.

**_2013_**

"I've heard a bit," Itori smiles, leaning against the wall of her office. 

Renji leers over her, refuses to play her game. "And?" 

"Just some kid," she continues. "Doesn't know what he's doing." 

"Or _where_ he's doing it." 

"Seems like he got into it with that glasses kid," Itori continues. "Didn't see his face though. No one ever does. Well," she cuts her eyes, grins, "'cept for the guys he kills." 

"That's all?" Renji asks, voice firm. 

"If you need more, you gotta _pay_ more." She rubs her fingers together, a gesture. 

Renji sighs, cards rough fingers through his hair. It's always such a hassel, he considers just leaving. But he'd gotten this far, came all this way. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few bank notes, shoving them into Itori's hands. 

"Such a loyal little dog," Itori laughs, impish and grating. Thumbs through the notes and counts the sum. "Most I know is what the snake kid said. Just some punk kid that lures men into alleys. He honestly ain't even sure if it's a man or a woman." 

"Did he say what they look like? Anything at all?" 

"They wore a hoodie," Itori answers. She presses a finger to her lip and looks up at the ceiling, recollecting. "I think _bikaku_ he said. But that ain't much to go by. Why don't you go ask him?" 

"Did they wear a mask or something? This seriously can't be everything you know. Isn't this what _you do?"_ Renji's stiff now, his jaw clenching. But as always, his voice never gives him away. 

At the insinuation, Itori laughs—throwing her head back and folding an arm over her gut. "I don't work for Yoshimura! That’s what _you_ do!" 

* 

"You and Mr. Yomo are good friends?" Kaneki asks Uta, his fingers curled awkwardly around the glass Uta insisted he take. 

"Yes," he nods. "We've known each other since we were kids. Well," he amends, smiling. "We weren't _childhood_ friends. We met when we were a bit older." 

Kaneki hums, swaying a bit from the alcohol. "I wish I could see my friend...." 

"Oh?" 

"I can't," he breathes, hunkering down in his seat. Ashamed. "Not right now." 

"Why can't you see your friend?" 

Kaneki huffs at that, his face warm and red with the alcohol. "'Cause I'd hurt him." 

"And you're scared of that," Uta states. He doesn't regard the young thing next to him, just watches the droplets of condensation race down his glass. "It's natural to be afraid, at first." 

"Were you scared?" 

Uta turns slightly then, popping a small brow. "Hmm?" 

"The first time you killed someone," Kaneki clarifies. "How old were you? Did it scare you?" 

"I was sixteen," he answers, voice steady. "Fresh out of the nest. It didn't scare me. Actually, quite the contrary." Uta leans back in his seat, studying the lights glinting off the glass bottles perched on shelves behind the bar. "It excited me." 

Kaneki's face softens, his eyes bright. "Oh." 

Uta nods, takes another large swell from his glass. 

"Is that normal?" Kaneki continues, pressing the subject. 

"No," Uta smiles. "I don't think it is." 

* 

**_Early Summer, 2005_**

Uta races out of his apartment, slamming the door. Searching. It was the middle of the night, the low thrum of taxis and trains long lost in the late hours. 

He was on the phone with Teru a moment earlier, as the smaller man walked down the street toward the apartment complex Uta called home. It was a rough neighborhood, the nitty-gritty kind where you kept your hands in your pockets and your head down. Teru was careless, and took out his phone to call Uta to alert him of his arrival. 

_"I'll be there in a bit," Teru said. "Mom wanted to send over some food for you, but I didn't wanna be caught out with it. Didn't wanna get mugged with—"_

_Teru lost his voice then, breath escaping his lungs with force. The phone crashed and settled on the pavement, a scuffle indiscernible in the background. Uta startled, leaping to his feet. "Teru? Teru?!"_

_A moment of silence, Uta's heartbeat kicking. The receiver scratched in his ear, Teru's breathes heavy and panicked._

_"Uta!" he sniffled. "Holy fuck, Uta! He tried to mug me! He tried to stab my gut and freaked out when the knife broke! He's dead! Uta, help me!"_

There's sniffling from an alley two blocks away, and Uta doesn't break his stride and he turns into the darkness. Finds Teru flinching away from the body and shivering. 

"Shit," he whimpers. Uta can smell the adrenaline and fear. Eyes black and red and locked on the lifeless form. Thin fingers curl into Teru's hair, tugging and pulling out strands. "Fuck. Shit!" 

"Teru." 

The human is dead, a pool of blood seeping into the street. Puncture wounds litter his chest where Teru's kagune had struck--messy and unskilled. The back of Teru's shirt torn open where the limb had merged free. 

"We gotta go, Teru. Wait here a moment." 

Wide eyed and trembling, Teru follows Uta's instructions. He sprints off to his apartment and returns with a tarp. They unfurl it over the ground, rolling the human into the center. Wrapped and hidden, they carry the man up to Uta's apartment. 

"Go into the kitchen," Uta instructs. "Get my knives. There should be a hack saw in the cabinet above the fridge." 

Teru freezes, hands curling over his chest feebly. "Saw." 

"Yes. Saw. You know what we have to do." 

His lips pull back in a pained grimace. "Wait, Uta...." 

"We have to," Uta insists. He spreads the tarp out once more, exposing the corpse once again. "We should probably shave his head, maybe pull out his teeth.... Teru? The saw." 

"I feel sick." 

"You'll be fine. I'll help you." He works on stripping the man of his clothes--bloodied and frayed from Teru's attack. "There should be a bucket in the bathroom. We need to drain the blood, too." 

Teru's still frozen, still shaking. 

But Uta pinches his chin, observing the corpse. Calculating. "Or we could hang him in the shower and let the blood run down the drain." 

A loud thud, Teru falling to his knees and retching. 

* 

The sun rises just as they finish, packing the meat in plastic bags and filling Uta's fridge. 

"Use the bones for porridge," Uta instructs. "Boil them, then take a hammer to them. Get rid of them." 

Teru's numb now, exhausted and swaying. He nods, lets Uta work him over with praises and kisses. He stinks of blood. 

"Run home to your mother, Teru," Uta whispers into his hair. "Tell her what you did." 

* 

Uta has known Teru for many years. They'd grown together into young men, under the same roof. And even though Teru's mother was his mother, Teru's father was not his father. 

Because he'd only seen the man once in his life, the first morning he woke up in his new home. He sat at the kitchen table, with his wife. They spoke in hushed voices, Uta remembers the way Mom looked so worried and how it made his heart kick. The man was tense, shoulders slumped forward as he scratched the butt of his palms against his eyes. 

They were going to throw him out, that was the only logical conclusion in his small mind. The first moment he knew the man, he feared him. Uta stepped slowly into the kitchen, like he was lost. 

"Miss," he whispered. "Miss, I have to pee." 

"Okay, baby," she had answered, rising from the table. 

The man sat in the kitchen, waited for their return. He watched as Uta took a seat across from him, sitting quietly while the woman who had taken him in served him breakfast. 

He was tall, a retroactive thought that could be explained by how little Uta was at the time. But he was angular, masculine. Broad shoulders tucked away into a thick woolen sweater. He kept his hair out of his face, jaw peppered with scruff. 

What Uta remembers the most about Yuji is his eyes, how they were dark and rich like damp soil. They were gentle, a thick set of eyebrows perched above them. How they glinted in that morning sunrise as Yuji welcomed him to the family. A certain dullness, a lifelessness. 

And Teru has those same eyes. Deep and heavy. But his brows are thin, like his mother's. And Uta sees that same desperation within them now that he saw in Yuji's eyes all those years ago. 

Teru stares at nothing, hands craddlng his head at the kitchen table—right where Yuji sat. Shaking. Almost panicked. And now he finally understands why all those years ago, that man at the table made the exact same expression. 

Yuji had killed someone, for the first time. 

* 

**_2013_**

"You're starting to piss me off," Renji practically hisses. Itori's smile widens. "I gave you _money,_ and all you did was repeat the same ambiguous bullshit you gave me earlier." 

"I don't know what you want from me," she shrugs. 

"Answers," he says. Renji steps closer, and Itori folds her arms over her chest—cocking a hip. "They're a bikaku. What else? A mask? Do they wear one?" 

"Just some shitty mask you'd find at a festival." Itori rolls her eyes, settling her gaze on a spot on the wall beyond Renji's shoulder. "So it's not like you could ask Uta if he knows anything. They obviously didn't have one made. You're at a dead end on this one. It's best to either scout this guy out or ask that glasses kid about them." 

"A shitty festival mask?" He pops a brow, seeking an answer in her expression. But Itori is not the type to give herself away, she's too much like Renji. Calm, calculated. She is never without control. 

"The shittiest." 

* 

**_Summer, 2005_**

Uta is many things, but a nurturer is not included in that list. 

He'd left home earlier than most of Mom's kids. He'd grown tired of the shrill voices running through the house, the runny noses and teary eyes and the ugly, puckered little faces always in search of coddling. It sickened him, in a way most teens detest children. 

But Teru was never like that. He nurtured, and coddled, and wiped noses and brushed away tears. Like he was born to raise children. But within those hours spent fussing over children, Teru often forgot his own needs. 

Uta is, indeed, many things. He's not a nurturer, but he is a friend. And he fusses over Teru the way Teru fusses over children. 

"Have you eaten?" Uta asks, closing the bedroom door behind him. 

Teru lays splayed out in the middle of his bed, eyes trained on the ceiling. "No." 

"You need to," Uta sighs, stepping more into the room. "I know you're hungry." 

"When I see the kids and Mom eating," he begins slowly, pausing to catch his breath. "It makes me sick. It makes me remember every single _fucking_ detail about what we did." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

"We did what we had to," Uta answers plainly, lowering his body onto the bed next to Teru. They watch the ceiling together, a comforting silence. Uta listens to Teru breathe and waits. 

"Did we?" Teru asks, huffing. 

"Yes." Uta lets a hand sneak toward Teru, pressing his finger against a sliver of skin between Teru's jeans and the hem of his shirt. Just for the contact. "He tried to kill you. He saw what you were, when the blade broke. If he had said anything to anybody, the CCG would sniff you out like a pack of dogs." 

"Yeah," Teru sighs. "I guess." 

"You protected yourself," he continues. "You fed your family. You did what you had to." 

"What about his family?" 

Uta doesn't say anything. The children, down the hall, giggle and squeal. 

"He had a family. Everyone does. Do you think they're looking for him?" 

"I doubt it," Uta grunts as he shifts, stretching and settling in closer. "He was out in a rough neighborhood trying to mug kids--" 

"I'm twenty," Teru growls. 

"You look like a kid. You're so small, Teru. I bet he had no idea what you were capable of." 

"You say that," Teru begins, rolling onto his side to face away from Uta, "like I did it on purpose. I didn't. It was...." 

"Instinct?" 

"Yeah.... It just.... _Happened."_

"C'mere," Uta whispers, rolling onto his side. Teru obeys, facing Uta and letting arms wrap around him. Presses his nose into Uta's shirt and inhales the musk. "That was nature," he continues. "What you did was instinct. Don't fault yourself for that." 

"Tell me a story, Uta," Teru demands quietly, fingers curling into the fabric of Uta's shirt. "Your voice is soft. So tell me a story and help me sleep." 

Uta laughs once, a chirp in his chest, his face nuzzling into Teru's hair. "Do you remember when we got lost at the fair? And those girls found us and took us back to mom?" 

* 

**_2013_ **

"We're leaving," Renji tells Kaneki once he reemerges from behind the bar. 

Kaneki smiles, face flushed from the alcohol. "Okay," he mutters, standing back on shaky feet. 

They bid the other two farewell and take back to the street. Kaneki stumbles against the sidewalk, nearly throwing himself into the seal of Renji's car. They're ride home to Anteiku is quiet, somber. Kaneki watches with a newfound amusement as city lights rush passed, and Renji grits his teeth through traffic. 

* 

"Mr. Yomo?" Kaneki asks, as he struggles up the stairs. 

Renji is behind him, supervising. A brief moment of nostalgia overcomes him. "What is it?" His voice is gentle, like he were stuck in that memory. 

_"Do you still love me, Ren?" Teru had asked._

"I think Mr. Uta is gay," Kaneki laughs. "Is he gay?" 

Renji rolls his eyes. "Not so much that he's gay. He'd just fuck anything that moves." 

He sees Kaneki to his room, rolled over to his side and with a glass of water on his nightstand. He shakes his head at the thought of the hangover to come. Slipping quietly into the night, he locks the shop up behind him and drives the 6 blocks to his apartment. Nestled between a bakery and arcade, the residents he shares the building with sleep soundly in their beds, all lights off and curtains pulled closed. 

A light flicks on from one of the windows—the window to his bathroom. 

Renji doesn't flinch. Just climbs the stairs, his keys tingling in his hands. Slides the lock open and steps in. 

The toilet flushes, and from down the hall he watches Teru step out of his bathroom. Groggy and stumbling, in his boxers and a t-shirt he'd stolen from Renji's closet. He stops short, face turning up and eyes squinting. "Ren?" he calls out. 

"I'm here," he answers. 

A little smile spreads across his face, stepping forward in the dark to find the other man. They meet, and embrace. Softly, almost artificial. Teru so light and fragile, his existence is a wonder. 

"How did you get in?" Renji asks. 

He hears Teru huff. "You left the balcony door unlocked." 

There's no answer, just a hum, Renji tightening his grip just so. 

"Are you mad?" 

"Never," he answers. "It's nice. Coming home to someone." 

"This could be us, every day," Teru reminds him. "It really could be." 

Teru hasn't grown a bit in these few years. Renji can still prop his chin on top of his head, can still feel the baby-fat cheeks pressing into his chest. Lovingly, he tucks a lock of hair behind Teru's ear--gnarled and mangled, pink with scars. He kisses it, bumpy against his lips from where it tried to heal over. 

Teru squirms away. "Stop it," he mumbles, fluffing his hair back over the scar. 

Renji watches him quietly, the tiny pout forming on his lips, smooth slope of his nose. His brows thick and strong now, furrowed over bright eyes. Teru has hardly grown, but he has become a man. 

He takes his hand delicately, the atmosphere quiet, almost serene. He brings the digits to his lips and worships Teru. The nubs left behind of his ring and pinky finger. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers. 

Teru snaps his hand away, but he smiles. Still so vibrant, still reviving. "It's not your fault." 

Renji doesn't answer, just moves passed Teru and into the kitchen, flipping the switch to bring his coffee pot to life. 

"I don't want any coffee," Teru says, not taking his normal seat across from Renji. 

Renji can't stop himself from popping up a brow. "Then what did you come here for?" 

Teru only hums, turning slowly and heading back down the hall. "I came here," he calls out, "to go to bed." 

* 

In his bedroom, everything is slow, a sensual pace. The way Teru moves against him, hips bucking forward desperately for friction. When he takes his time trailing lips down Renji's abdomen, the deliberate way he swirls his tongue over the plummy head of Renji's cock. How his lungs squeeze slowly when he moans. 

"I love your cock, Ren." Teru takes a moment to admire it, licking up and down slowly and moaning at the taste--lapping at the precum that bubbles from the tip. "I love it so much.... I wanna be on top tonight." Another lick, lips pulled over his teeth and pinching the head playfully. "I wanna fuck myself on your cock, Renji. Can I? Please...." 

Teru's perching himself over Renji's lap, hand guiding Renji to his entrance. But it's so slow, too slow. Renji's hips rut forward with need, and Teru only smiles and shushes him softly. 

"Just watch me, Ren," he sighs. Seats himself slowly, engulfing Renji, who pinches his eyes shut and throws back his head against the pillows. _"Watch me..."_

* 

**_Summer, 2005_**

 

"Teru?" 

He's on the roof now, climbing up the fire escape and heaving himself up. Renji steps forward, approaching Teru quietly. 

He's leaning over the ledge, his chest pressed against the raised brick. Staring down at traffic, the few taxis whizzing by. The voices from below carrying upward. 

Teru doesn't acknowledge Renji, just watches the ground from above. It's almost peaceful, how soft and still his face remains. And it worries Renji--he feels his heart kick in his chest. 

"Teru," he repeats, a bit louder now. 

He turns, unflinching. Waiting. 

"What are you doing up here?" 

His eyes, glazed over with a fog Renji's never seen before, flicker away once. Like he were guilty and caught. "Nothing. I was just..." 

"Just what?" he presses. 

Teru says, very simply, "Thinking." 

He turns again to watch the city below. A pair of lovers laughing as they traverse the sidewalk. Renji can see the way Teru grips the ledge, thin knuckles bleeding white. He steps forward more, his muscles pinched tight with anticipation. 

"About what?" 

Teru huffs, a hand snaking into his hair, pulling at the locks of curls. "How terrible I feel." 

"What happened?" He's right behind Teru now, he can see the way his knees shake. 

"I killed someone, Renji." 

Silence, save for the life of the city. 

Teru sniffles, wiping his nose against the back of his hand. "I _killed_ someone." His voice croaks pathetically. 

"Teru...." 

"And I'm sitting here thinking," he continues, his voice rushed as he fights the sobs wanting to tear from his lungs. "About God. Do you think there's a God, Renji?" 

"No," he answers carefully. "I don't." 

"I used to think," he pauses to cough, still refusing to turn towards Renji. "That maybe there was a God. Because no bit of me could think of any other explanation out there. I know, that you think we're all made from the stars, every last one of us. But how could the stars make _us?_ We're....We're _monsters._ A-a-and stars, they have no reason to make monsters." 

Renji remains quiet, watching the way Teru's shoulders shake as he cries. 

"And I remember being very little, and I heard a man say that humans were created in God's image. But what about us, Renji? What were we? His wrath? His hunger?" 

Teru slumps forward, pressing his face into the brick and weeping. And that's when Renji steps forward, his muscles loose and mechanical all at once as he wraps strong arms around Teru's shivering frame. 

"I don't want to believe in God," he whimpers. "Because I'm _afraid_ of God. Because he made _us_ and he made my hunger and he made my body the way it is! And I hate it!" 

He shushes Teru softly, rocking him back and forth. Little face pressing into his chest as he chokes for air around sobs. "I killed him," he whispers, over and over again. _"I killed him."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry if this took a long time i was moving and had a lot to do but boy oh boy this is only gonna be four chapters long i wonder how things will wrap up. what do you think will happen?


	3. A Continuation

**_2013_**

Nishiki knew nothing about the fox kid. He clicked his tongue and turned away from Renji when he asked, his brows scrunched and lip curved in disgust. 

"Just a fucking brat," he muttered. "Fast, too. Ran off before I could catch him." 

"His kagune?" Renji pressed. 

"Bikaku," Nishiki confirmed. 

Renji sits now with Mr. Yoshimura in his office, relaying all of the gathered intel to his superior. The old man nods, always with a pen in hand scratching away at his paper. It grates Renji's nerves, but he remains silent while his boss methodically finished his notes—the words neatly printed. 

"So, it seems like it's a kid," Renji continues. "Possibly fresh on his own." 

"Has any of Miss Mayu's children recently spread their wings?" 

"No." Renji scratches at his eyebrows, feels a dull ache grow between his eyes. "Takeo and Yuki are good kids. Both in school. Takeo has entrance exams for college soon." 

"That's nice," a small smile tugs at Mr. Yoshimura's lips, his mustache twitching. "Ryuuji?" 

"Is _nine_ ," Renji says firmly. "He doesn't even walk to school by himself yet." 

"He's already in school?" 

"He's a very good kid," Renji nods. "He started last year." 

"You sound proud," Mr. Yoshimura chuckles. 

Renji recoils at that. 

"Well, it really could be anyone," Mr Yoshimura sighs. "Miss Mayu can't save every child in Tokyo." 

Renji folds his arms over his chest, muscles tightening. "She sure as hell tries." 

"Let's continue to keep our eyes peeled," Mr. Yoshimura sighs. "So far, not too much harm done. Territory disputes are just so tiring. This kid's kicking up quite the fuss." 

Renji is silent, nods for good measure. 

"But if it goes too far, Renji," Mr. Yoshimura's eyes twinkle again, mischief. "You know what to do." 

* 

Sometimes, while the kids are at school, and with no chores or errands to run, Teru will sit in Anteiku and wait for Renji to appear—to tease and annoy, or maybe share a moment of polite conversation. 

The new kid tends to him, too kind for his own good. Teru leans over the counter and points to the jar with his preferred beans, a Brazilian-Bourbon blend. "Double brewed," he instructs, patiently guiding him through the method. 

"Don't take coffee advice from Teru," Touka snaps suddenly. "His coffee tastes like shit." 

Teru smirks, devilish. Touka has definitely grown in what little time Teru has known the girl. He sees the maturity wanting to blossom within her eyes, smothered from whatever teenage angst currently consumes her. The potential is there, the way she watches over Kaneki carefully. 

The boy named Kaneki hands Teru his cup slowly, assuring no drop goes spilled. Teru thanks him softly, puffing at the surface before sipping. An average taste. 

He continues without a word, but feels eyes roving over him. He glances to Kaneki, who flinches and turns away. Teru realizes too soon, he's holding his cup with his injured hand. 

"It’s okay," he smiles, trying to ease the guilt in Kaneki's mood. "I know, it's ugly." 

"I didn't mean to stare," Kaneki assures him. 

"You can stare. I mean...." Teru looks down at his hand ruefully. "I earned it." 

Before anything else can be said, the back office opens suddenly. Kaneki snaps back to work when his boss appears. And Teru straightens expectantly when he sees Renji behind the old man. 

They lock eyes from across the room and Teru shivers. Remembering last night, Renji below him, eyes locked as they rocked together slowly... 

The chemistry between Teru and Renji had changed and matured throughout the years. At first, it was a young, fragile love. One Teru was petrified to reciprocate. Love was a crutch, a means to a singular end that a wild twenty-year-old saw as a hindrance. So for years, he maintained a "Just Friends" status with Renji. Sowed his oats where he pleased, found himself in bed after bed. 

But in the end, when he crawled home, Renji was always there waiting for him. 

It was tentative, at first. But Teru hinted at the notion dozens of times. He was ready to settle down, ready to welcome a partner into his home, especially after he'd moved his family out of the Fourth Ward five years ago. 

But with each nudge, he's met with animosity from Renji. As if he'd built that same wall Teru had years ago. 

_Karmic retribution,_ Teru thinks. _I've earned everything that's been given to me._

Renji approaches him, a small flash of a smile for Teru. "Teru," his voice rumbles deep in his chest. A large hand pushes through Teru's hair, pulling back the bangs and reveling in the strong brows set over his eyes. How thick the locks are. 

"Ren," he smiles, grabbing Renji's wrist and pressing the warm palm against his cheek. "You wanna come over tonight? I'm not working." 

"I have things to do." 

"You have _me_ to do." 

Renji fixes him with a look, but his smiles widens. Roughly, Renji grabs Teru's cheeks with his hand and jostles his head around. "Idiot. Don't be so lewd in public." 

* 

 

 ** _Early Summer, 2005_**

Teru watches the kids play in the living room, nursing a glass of wine at his perch in the kitchen. Yuki tends to Ryuuji gently, passing him blocks and helping him pronounce the names of their colors. 

"Red," she instructs, slowly. 

"Raad," Ryuji parrots the best he can. 

Another swell from his cup, his fingers trembling. 

The front door pops open, the stench of inner-city wafting inward. Uta saunters in, opening his arms when the children jump up to greet him. 

"Uta," Teru calls out weakly. 

He glances up at Teru from over Ryuuji's head, who'd grappled Uta into a tiny, fierce hug. Uta steps into the kitchen, the child still in his arms with Yuki clinging to his leg for the ride. 

Gently, he sits the toddler back on his feet. "Go play, guys." 

Once the children have giggled away and returned to their game, Uta turns to Teru, observes him critically. "What's up?" 

Teru raises his glass, smiles ruefully. "This glass, that's what's up." 

Uta sighs, taking the glass from Teru. "Where's Mom?" 

"Helping Takeo with his homework. Uta, how come we never went to school?" 

He's tipsy, his cheeks and ears tinged red. Eyes foggy, lips pouting. Uta clicks his tongue and tugs at Teru's wrist. "C'mon. Let's go for a walk and sober you up." 

"I'm fine." Jerks his arm away. 

"You're not—" 

"Yes," his voice raises, the children jerking their heads toward the kitchen. "I _am."_

He fixes Teru with a look, and it sends those wide eyes downcast in their shame. Again, Uta takes him by the wrist, tightens his grip just so. "Let's go, Teru." 

* 

In their journey, they find their way on the train, the tracks jostling their bodies as they sit in silence. Hands entwined, breaths soft. "Let's go see Ren," Uta had suggested. So they're on their way to the Twentieth Ward, to bombard Renji with their company and perhaps take over his living room for the night. He has cable. 

They never unlock their hands, roaming down the sidewalk through the early evening foot traffic. It's a breezy summer night, the food vendors in their carts and vans tending to the crowds. They pass the arcade, still bustling with life, and Teru holds Uta's arm closer to his chest. He doesn't care if people stare, or whisper and point. Uta is strong and brave, a wall between Teru and the real world. 

He's sober now, the fresh air clearing his head. But he still holds onto Uta, as they climb the stairs and eventually knock on Renj's door. He holds on as they're welcomed in, and only lets go when Uta leads him to the couch. 

Renji and Uta stand there for a moment, observing. The dead look in his eyes, the way he slouches and pouts. They regard each other with a quick glance, then set to work. 

Uta disappears into Renji's bedroom and returns with his duvet, wrapping it lovingly around Teru. The little thing sighs, his nose pressing into the fabric and inhaling Renji's musk. 

From Renji's post in the kitchen, he beckons the coffee machine to life. It gurgles and puffs and spits out steaming coffee into the glass jug. When It's finished with its first round, he reopens the reservoir and pours the coffee in. Double brews to Teru's liking. 

With a cup of coffee and a comforter, Teru nestles into the cushions. Renji flips the TV on and changes the channel to a drama, background noise as they settle in for a night of conversation. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Uta asks Teru, who huffs and sips at his coffee with earnest. 

"There's nothing to talk about. It happened. It's over." 

"But it still bothers you," Renji adds. He can't stop himself from wrapping a protective arm around Teru's shoulders, feels Teru melt into the touch. 

"I'll be fine." 

"If you say so," Uta mutters, nuzzling into Teru's neck. 

They sit that way for a moment, indulging in the silence, Teru finding comfort in the way Uta and Renji crowd him. Like a shield, warm and sturdy. Renji takes his now-empty coffee mug from his hands and sits it aside on the coffee table, wrapping his arms around Teru once more.  

They're both nosing at his hair now, offering the comfort they both know they can provide. Teru closes his eyes and revels in it, a pleased sigh escaping his lips. 

"This is how I wanna die," he breathes. "Surrounded by muscley men." 

"I'm certain," Uta answers, his voice deep and muffled, "that can be arranged." 

A low murmur of laughs, Teru's mouth twitching before parting around a small noise. Not a moan, not a sigh, something strange and in between. His head fogs, and he just feels. Renji, kissing at his neck and ears. Uta's hand sneaking to the back of his neck to scratch at his nape—the way he knows Teru likes. 

"Is this happening?" Teru gasps. "Are we...?" 

They pause, reading the atmosphere. Uta and Renji watch each other from over the top of Teru's head. Renji's forehead creases, Uta's brows relax. Yes, they seem to agree. 

So without a word, their heads dip back down to Teru. Listen to his struggle for breathes, feel him shiver when each take an earlobe and nibble softly. Renji licks the soft skin behind his ear, a delicious contrast to Uta's teeth sinking into the juncture of his neck. 

"Fuck," Teru breathes, shrugging out of the blankets. _"Fuck."_

* 

He's between them now, rocking. Rens cock slipping inside of him, Uta's breath puffing against his ear—holding their lengths together and stroking. 

Pillow talk is a luxury when he's just with Ren, but Uta's mouth constantly runs lecherous marathons, making Teru blush all the way down to his chest. Shaking and choking on moans, his ass clenching just at the sound of his voice. 

"How does Renji feel, baby?" Uta purrs. "Tell me." 

Ren licks at the sweat dampening the back of his ear, hands grasping delicately at Teru's hips, and he shivers. "So... _so good."_

"Tell me more, baby boy. Does he hit your sweet spot?" 

As if to prove a point, Renji gives a sharp thrust, thick head of his cock brushing Teru's prostate _just right._ He yelps helplessly, fingers digging into Uta's shoulders. 

Uta hums, twisting his wrist. "Sounds like he does. I can tell, Teru. He's making your toes curl. I bet you're so close to coming, aren't you? Just need to be fucked just a little faster, don't you?" 

His words are caught in his throat, his muscles pulled taut as he searches for his climax, tries to stoke the fire in his belly. Pushing back against Ren, fucking forward into Uta's fist. His head nearly spins. 

"You have to ask nicely, Teru." 

He opens his eyes, nerves close to fraying. "Ask...?" 

"I wanna hear you, baby," Uta whispers in his ear. "Beg Renji, ask him to let you come." 

Behind him, Renji still hasn't said a word. Only licks and nips his encouragement. 

Uta's free hand finds a nipple, pink and perked, and rubs tenderly, pinching between his thumb and index finger. "Beg for it, baby." 

"Please..." His breaths are shallow, voice weak. "Please make me come, Ren. Please, _please,_ Renji." 

For the first time, Renji breaks his silence, his voice hoarse. "You can do better than that." 

Lips over his nipple now, a tongue lashing against the bud. His back arches, hips working back and forth frantically. Hand grasping Renji's hair, tilting his face back to press his nose right beneath Ren's jaw—to feel the scruff scratch at his face. A slur of, "Lemme come, please Ren make me come, _I wanna come."_

Shaking, every muscles quivering and begging for that release. He finds it right at the base of his spine, Renji encouraging it with every stroke against within him. His insides dragging with the push and pull of Ren's cock. 

"Like that," he pants, groaning when Ren brushes his lips against his own. "Just _like that._ Gonna...gonna _come..."_

And then Uta clamps his hand around Teru's length, right at the base. "No, no, baby," he hums. "Not yet." 

_"Uta!"_ He's close to crying. 

Like synchronized torture, Renji's hips halt, a firm grip holding him and grinding against him too fucking softly. 

This time, he actually starts to cry, two droplets streaming down his cheek. "Ren, _no,"_ he whines. 

Renji only tuts him gently, nosing at his hair. "Sshh, baby. I'll let you come. I wanna make you come. But you have to beg Uta to let go of your pretty little cock." 

Uta catches Renji's eyes over the top of Teru's head, curling his chin and nodding like he were impressed. 

And they reduce Teru to a squirming begging mes—switching back and forth between "Ask Ren, baby," and "Tell Uta to..." It's maddening for Teru, but it ignites a whole new flame entirely within both of his lovers, who now work in tandem against him. He sobs, begs, wiggles his ass and tongue-fucks Uta breathless. Trying so hard, wanting nothing more than to feel the sticky-warm splash of his completion dribbling down his belly. 

"Please," he whimpers, nearly to his breaking point. "Please...." 

He's not sure who asks, "Please what?" 

His lips warble, his voice pathetic. "I wanna _come..."_ Sniffles once, pouting. 

He hears Uta groan. "Oh, baby. Don't cry..." 

Little head hangs now, pressing his sweaty forehead against Uta's chest. Sobbing."Please let me come. I'll do _anything."_

Uta's eyes glow. "Then bend over." 

They position Teru—doughy limbed and drowsy—onto his hands and knees. Uta cupping his cheek and pressing the flushed head of his cock against his lips. He laps at the precum, sleepy little kitten licks that shake Uta to his core. Ren moves again, gently, firm hand caressing the silky skin stretched over his hips bones. 

And he eagerly takes what they give him. Uta fucking into his throat, Ren's hips slapping against his ass. Curves his back, closes his eyes, tugs at his own prick like he were dying. 

They let him come. 

* 

"Who do you think Teru likes more?" 

They're cuddled in Renji's bed now, Teru between them and dozing off, jerking forward every so often to ward away sleep. 

Uta's stroking Teru's hair, watching him and laughing softly, waiting for Renji's answer. 

"That's not anything either of us could speculate," Renji answers, a sage rumble in his chest. He's still bare, the duvet hardly covering him below the waist. Teru had taken all the covers. 

"Yeah?" Uta murmurs, pressing his lips against the cool skin of Teru's forehead. Teru grumbles, wiping at his eyes, then finally decides to stop fighting his own exhaustion. 

"But if I were being honest," Renji continues, keeping his voice low. "I think he likes you more." 

Uta huffs. "I feel the same way. I think he likes you more. Which..." He pauses, eyes downcast. "Which, if I were being honest, makes me hate him. And you." 

At that, Renji rolls his eyes. "We just had a threesome." 

"And it was incredible." 

"Were we a bit mean to him?" Renji asks suddenly, fretting. "He cried..." 

"He needed to cry," Uta breathes. "I don't know how you and Teru fuck, but when it's just me and him, that's usually how it goes. Growing up, Teru would pull out his hair. Turns out that was his version of self-harm. I found out while rolling through the sheets as teenagers that if I was firm with him—if I made him cry while I fucked him—he'd pull at his hair less often. It's a release." 

Renji only hums, eyes tracing the tiles of the ceiling. Thinks about that night on the rooftop—how he didn't need to fuck Teru for him to cry and vent in frustrations. As always, Uta must be lying. 

"How do you guys fuck?" Uta asks. 

That makes Renji snort. "I don't like to be mean to him. It's always...soft." 

"Soft?" 

"I mean, he likes it rough. But, you know. In a nice way." 

Uta laughs so loudly, so suddenly, that it startles Teru awake. He bolts upright and looks around frantically. "What?! What happened?!" 

"You and Ren have vanilla sex," Uta snickers. 

Teru slaps a pillow against Uta's face and grumbles as he settles back into bed, rolling over and pressing his nose into Renji's skin. Renji closes his eyes to also welcome sleep, missing the way Uta's brows furrow and his lips tighten.

**Author's Note:**

> pls like and comment I'm needy


End file.
